that had given the werewolf the power to destroy Marishka while she took her rest. Had Santiago been new in the life, he had no doubt that he, too, would have died that day so long ago. But he had been an old vampire, even then. His age and his instinct for self-preservation had served him well that day.
He paused in midstride, listening as Regan kicked off her shoes, drew back the covers on his bed, and slid beneath the sheets. With his preternatural senses, he could hear each breath she took, each beat of her heart, hear the whisper of blood flowing through her veins…
His fangs teased his tongue. She was here, in his house, in his bed. His for the taking.
He resumed pacing, his hands clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to sweep her into his arms and succumb to the hunger burning through him. Every breath he took carried the scent of her hair, her skin, her life's blood. She would be sweet, so sweet. He could almost feel her in his arms, taste her on his tongue.
One taste. She need never know. She would never miss it.
A thought carried him to the bedroom door. He looked down to find his hand on the knob, unable to remember how he had gotten there.
Swearing a vile oath, he stormed out of his apartment, down the stairs, and across the park. He came to an abrupt halt when his foot touched the sidewalk. What was he doing? He couldn't go haring off into the night, couldn't leave Regan alone, unprotected, while Vasile was in the city.
Santiago's gaze swept right and left. The werewolf could be here now, waiting, watching.
Blowing out a deep breath, Santiago returned to his apartment. Entering his bedroom, he made sure the woman was sleeping peacefully. With a sigh, he settled down in the chair beside the closet, his every sense attuned to the mortal female in his bed. He was aware of every breath she took, every beat of her heart, the faint, flowery scent of her hair, her skin.
His hunger rose, and with it a growing desire to crawl into bed beside her, to take what he wanted, by force if necessary.
When his fangs pricked his tongue, he fled the room, afraid he would succumb to the sweet temptation she presented.
In the living room, he flung himself onto the sofa and closed his eyes.
It was going to be a long night.
Regan woke slowly, surprised to find that it was still dark outside. She stretched her arms over her head and out to the side, then paused with the sudden certainty that she wasn't alone in the room.
Heart pounding, she glanced slowly to the left. There was nothing there. Hardly daring to breathe, she slid a glance to the right, felt her blood freeze in her veins when she saw a pair of hell-red eyes staring at her from out of the darkness.
It was him. She knew it. The creature who had killed the people in the park.
The werewolf. And he had come for her.
She opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged from her throat.
The eyes grew larger—and closer.
She had often watched movies where women in peril seemed unable to move. She had always thought of them as being weak-willed and too stupid to live as she mentally screamed at them to get up and run, for goodness' sake! She knew now why they didn't. She couldn't move, could scarcely breathe past the tight knot of fear growing ever larger and colder within her.
She was going to die. Quick visions of the mutilated bodies she had seen in the park rose in her mind, filling her with renewed horror. Where was Santiago when she needed him?
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the bedroom door flew open and the vampire was there, fangs gleaming in the moonlight, his eyes glowing as hellishly red as the werewolf's.
They came together in a rush, two preternatural creatures viciously lashing out at each other with gleaming fangs and razor-sharp claws.
She screamed as the werewolf's claws gouged a great hole in Santiago's chest and then, with a mighty roar, the werewolf ripped the vampire's heart from his chest…
She screamed and
He paused in midstride, listening as Regan kicked off her shoes, drew back the covers on his bed, and slid beneath the sheets. With his preternatural senses, he could hear each breath she took, each beat of her heart, hear the whisper of blood flowing through her veins…
His fangs teased his tongue. She was here, in his house, in his bed. His for the taking.
He resumed pacing, his hands clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to sweep her into his arms and succumb to the hunger burning through him. Every breath he took carried the scent of her hair, her skin, her life's blood. She would be sweet, so sweet. He could almost feel her in his arms, taste her on his tongue.
One taste. She need never know. She would never miss it.
A thought carried him to the bedroom door. He looked down to find his hand on the knob, unable to remember how he had gotten there.
Swearing a vile oath, he stormed out of his apartment, down the stairs, and across the park. He came to an abrupt halt when his foot touched the sidewalk. What was he doing? He couldn't go haring off into the night, couldn't leave Regan alone, unprotected, while Vasile was in the city.
Santiago's gaze swept right and left. The werewolf could be here now, waiting, watching.
Blowing out a deep breath, Santiago returned to his apartment. Entering his bedroom, he made sure the woman was sleeping peacefully. With a sigh, he settled down in the chair beside the closet, his every sense attuned to the mortal female in his bed. He was aware of every breath she took, every beat of her heart, the faint, flowery scent of her hair, her skin.
His hunger rose, and with it a growing desire to crawl into bed beside her, to take what he wanted, by force if necessary.
When his fangs pricked his tongue, he fled the room, afraid he would succumb to the sweet temptation she presented.
In the living room, he flung himself onto the sofa and closed his eyes.
It was going to be a long night.
Regan woke slowly, surprised to find that it was still dark outside. She stretched her arms over her head and out to the side, then paused with the sudden certainty that she wasn't alone in the room.
Heart pounding, she glanced slowly to the left. There was nothing there. Hardly daring to breathe, she slid a glance to the right, felt her blood freeze in her veins when she saw a pair of hell-red eyes staring at her from out of the darkness.
It was him. She knew it. The creature who had killed the people in the park.
The werewolf. And he had come for her.
She opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged from her throat.
The eyes grew larger—and closer.
She had often watched movies where women in peril seemed unable to move. She had always thought of them as being weak-willed and too stupid to live as she mentally screamed at them to get up and run, for goodness' sake! She knew now why they didn't. She couldn't move, could scarcely breathe past the tight knot of fear growing ever larger and colder within her.
She was going to die. Quick visions of the mutilated bodies she had seen in the park rose in her mind, filling her with renewed horror. Where was Santiago when she needed him?
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the bedroom door flew open and the vampire was there, fangs gleaming in the moonlight, his eyes glowing as hellishly red as the werewolf's.
They came together in a rush, two preternatural creatures viciously lashing out at each other with gleaming fangs and razor-sharp claws.
She screamed as the werewolf's claws gouged a great hole in Santiago's chest and then, with a mighty roar, the werewolf ripped the vampire's heart from his chest…
She screamed and
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